Valse Nonchalante
by V.M. Bell
Summary: Then, rather suddenly, he said to himself, I’m going to marry her one day. It was ridiculous, he knew, but it was also relentless, relentless in the way that singularly obsessive and hopelessly quixotic thoughts are. I’ll marry her, I will. TedAndromeda.


**Valse Nonchalante**

The first time Ted ever saw her, curfew was perilously approaching and he was running towards the Hufflepuff common room. He had a perfect disciplinary record at Hogwarts; he didn't want it blemished simply because he had lost track of time in the library. His feet pounding against the flagstones, he crossed into one of the many open-air courtyards sprinkled throughout the castle. Then, as he struggled to keep his bag from slipping off his shoulder, he caught sight of her and stopped. Later, when he looked back on it, he always marveled how incredibly simple it was in the beginning.

She was dancing, surrounded by green and four stone walkways, and she was alone. A periwinkle blue nightgown, luminous against the encroachment of night, clung loosely to her skin. It twirled and swished to her movements, billowing outwards and contracting and billowing again. The grass whispered beneath the light step of her bare feet; Ted noticed the earthy stains on toes. Taking a step closer, he thought he heard her speaking…but, no, she was only humming, humming a sorrowful melody that reminded him strongly of the purple hills and valleys of Ireland. Her eyes were closed, for the most part, and if they were ever open, she directed them towards only the sky. He looked up, trying to find what it was she was staring at, but realizing that it was just another night, the stars only beginning to take up their positions as evening faded away, he was further perplexed.

Suddenly, she stopped moving and gazed in his direction. "Who are you?"

Ted blushed profusely and looked away. "Um, sorry, I was just…erm, heading back to the common room and, um, sort of – "

"You're in Slytherin?"

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Oh." The ends of her light brown hair twisted behind her in the early night breeze. He didn't think someone as…as peaceful – yes, peaceful – as her could ever be a Slytherin. Slytherins were earthy and ambitious, outspoken, gregarious, and usually quite suspicious of those outside their House. Ted immediately began slinking away. "I'm in Hufflepuff."

She threw out an arm and raised her voice. "Wait, don't leave! What's your name?"

"Ted Tonks. And you?"

"Oh. I'm Andromeda." Smiling, she walked towards him and held out a hand. He shook it reluctantly. "Nice to meet you, Ted."

"Yeah, nice to meet you too. Strange, I don't remember seeing you at the Sorting."

"We're not in the same year, then. First year?"

"Second."

She nodded. "I'm a year above."

"Well, I'd, um, betting get going, all right? Sorry to bother you." Clutching his bag tightly, he hurried through the courtyard and turned towards his common room. His mind, though, refused to follow and was possessed by the image of a delicate angel spinning, her face ethereally calm. He abruptly changed directions and stumbled back towards the courtyard. Andromeda was still standing there, her hands locked behind her back. "Why were you dancing?" he blurted out, expecting her kind mouth to contort into an angry shape.

Instead, she turned her head to meet him. "Sometimes," she began after a moment's silence, "I like being alone. Things are easier that way, I think. You don't have to think and there's no one watching."

Ted felt that he had intruded on a subject that he should have avoided. "Right. Well, g'bye, then," he muttered.

"Will I see you again?"

"I dunno."

She smiled at him, and he knew that it was time for him to leave. He waved at her and then set off, this time at a much slower pace. Upon arriving at the Hufflepuff common room, he went straight up to the boys' dormitory, tossing his bag aside before lying down in bed, still fully clothed.

He recaptured the image of the graceful arc of her arms as they stretched above her swaying body, the solemn melancholy of her solitary figure, the fuzzy contours of her water-like gown.

_I like being alone._

Ted was twelve years old, still prone to thinking of girls as either superficial or a disease to be avoided at all costs, lest they plague him with dolls, patchwork quilts, and the color pink. But this one, Andromeda…what a quivering chord she struck in him, one that grew louder as it resonated against the rationality in his mind. Then, rather suddenly, he said to himself, I'm going to marry her one day. It was ridiculous, he knew, but it was also relentless, relentless in the way that singularly obsessive and hopelessly quixotic thoughts are. I'll marry her, I will.

_You don't have to think and there's no one watching_.

That night, he couldn't sleep.


End file.
